


Lovely

by readdreamwrite28



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Depression, Drug Use, M/M, Nightmares, Post-War, SORRY IM BAD AT TAGS, Smoking, and harry also in a bad place, because he knows what its like, but there to help him, draco in a really bad place, thats it for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29857170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readdreamwrite28/pseuds/readdreamwrite28
Summary: Thought I found a wayThought I found a way, yeah (found)But you never go away (never go away)So I guess I gotta stay now
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So uh I don't know what led me to start writing this, and I don't know when I'll be able to update it, but I'm working on it.

Thought I found a way  
Thought I found a way, yeah (found)  
But you never go away (never go away)  
So I guess I gotta stay now

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco woke with a start. The nightmares kept getting worse and worse, and there was nothing he could do about it. The calming drought only helped while he was awake, and even then, in the moments of calm the sleep pulled at him, and he fell under, only for there to be another terror around the corner. 

He had his room- situated by McGonagall after the war. Everyone needed their own space. Well- people like Draco at least. 

Draco walked over to his desk where he had a bowl set and filled it with water, taking a cloth and wiping it over his sweaty face. He’d thought that after the war was over- after Voldemort died- that it would all go away, that the horror that he’d felt, the scars, the feelings, would just go away… but they never did. They never went away. 

Every time he thought that maybe, it finally left, it only came back. So he stopped trying to run. He let it all consume him. Fill him to the point of breaking.

Because you can’t break what’s already broken.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I hope someday I’ll make it out of here
> 
> Even if it takes all night or a hundred years
> 
> Need a place to hide, but I can’t find one near
> 
> Wanna feel alive, outside I can’t fight my fear

Oh, I hope someday I’ll make it out of here

Even if it takes all night or a hundred years

Need a place to hide, but I can’t find one near

Wanna feel alive, outside I can’t fight my fear

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s not like some part of him (however small, however deeply buried somewhere inside of him) didn’t hope that he’d come out of it- whatever you want you to call it, depression, maybe? But no matter how desperate he was to leave it all behind him, it found him again. 

His mind became clouded, his eyes dazed, his skin lifeless and impossibly paler than before. He could never stomach any food, everything made him nauseous. Sooner rather than later he became a porcelain shop, and just like that, he became awaiting a bull to come through and destroy him. Maybe he’d destroy himself. The bull would be a hallucination as he bled out, his vision going dark, at peace once and for all. 

But something kept him alive, for whatever reason he had no idea. It felt like escaping the fear and exhaustion of the past 7 years of his life would take 10,000 times what it took to get him where he was (and that’s saying something, but also nothing because Draco is weak and he doesn’t have anything to live for). 

And maybe, in reality, the bull wasn’t himself, maybe it was someone with emerald green eyes and a scar on his forehead, maybe it just so happened to be the one person that could relate to him most, and least of all. 

Eventually, he felt like death was more welcoming than life, but he didn’t want to die so maybe he started something to make him feel alive, because maybe he only wanted to kill part of himself and not his entire being, maybe he was looking for emotion, he’ll never know, it seems. 

So, amidst all his emotions (or lack thereof), he started smoking. Just to feel a little something, even if it was just the slow deterioration of his lungs.


End file.
